Page 12 of Too Old for This

When my final stuffed chicken roll is in the oven, I pull out Plum’s file again. Beyond the synopsis of her show and that infamous photo of me, I find quite a few maps. Of the city, and where the bodies were found.

Nothing interesting there. As I move on to the next section, my phone rings. The toll-free number is not one I recognize.

“Hello?”

“Hello. I’m calling on behalf of Fairhaven Bank. How are you today?”

“I missed your name,” I say.

“My name is Jax.”

“Did you say Jack?”

“Actually, it’s Jaxon. J-A-X-O-N. But everybody calls me Jax.”

“Fascinating,” I say. “And you are calling on behalf of Fairhaven Bank. What does that mean?”

“It means I am a representative authorized to speak on behalf of the bank.”

“I see. Go on.” I take a sip of my coffee and scan through what the police categorized as evidence.

“Are you feeling a little pinched for cash?” Jax says. “Always trying to stretch your monthly check to make ends meet?”

“Let’s pretend I say yes. To both.”

Silence.

“Are you saying yes?” he asks. “Or are you pretending?”

“Doesn’t matter. Please continue.”

“Fairhaven Bank has developed a solution to your cash crunch. We’re offering a line of credit that will allow you to…”

As he talks, I skim down the list of evidence.

Someone claimed to see me with Paul Norris on the night he died.

Another witness saw me coming out of the woods near where Marilyn Dobbs was buried, on the night after she died.

Beyond the witnesses, there’s a partial fingerprint on a car, a ticket stub from the movies on the same night Walter Simmons was there, and a parking ticket from that same night.

I remember it all, everything about Paul, Marilyn, and Walter. How they looked, what they said, when and where it happened.

Burke had been so close.

He knew that six months before Marilyn Dobbs died, she had been a substitute teacher at Archie’s school.

But he didn’t know the rest. He didn’t know she had called me in for a meeting and said Archie really needed a father in his life.

He didn’t see the way she looked at me when the strap of my old purse broke and everything scattered across the floor.

He didn’t see Marilyn as she watched me get down on my knees and pick everything up by myself.

As for Paul Norris, Burke knew he managed a discount grocery store where I used to shop, but he didn’t know what happened at that store.

One day, I was caught short of cash and ended up at the checkout needing another two dollars and seventeen cents.

The woman behind me handed me the money, but Paul saw it.

Every time I went back, he followed me around. Watched me. Acted like I was a thief .

Burke also didn’t know that Marilyn, Walter, and Paul were years after Gary, when killing had become a bit like sex.

First, I had to be in the mood.

Next, the opportunity had to present itself. The place, the time, who was around and who wasn’t. It all had to work.

But the most important thing was the anger. I had to be very, very angry.

—

“What do you think? Sounds great, right?” Jax says. His voice has been droning on and on in my ear.

I clear my throat. “This loan you’re offering, what do you need for collateral?”

“Your home.”

“So this is a home equity line of credit?”

“It’s similar,” he says. “But we’ve tweaked it to fit your specific circumstances.”

“Which are?”

“We developed this opportunity for some of the most vulnerable members of our society.”

“Old people,” I say.

“The program was designed to help people who are often forgotten about, including the elderly, those with special challenges, and people who are unable to make enough money to support themselves…”

I roll my eyes and let Jax keep talking. My chicken won’t be done baking for another twenty minutes.

The evidence list in Plum’s file doesn’t contain anything new. No surprise there. The police stopped investigating me after the city wrote that big check. I turn the page, moving on to a pile of interview transcripts.

“So what do you think?” Jax says.

“What’s the interest rate?”

“We have a special introductory rate for the first year at only five percent. After that, it will be nineteen point nine five percent.”

“Jax, I appreciate that you’re trying to do your job. You have your own bills to pay, and I’m sure you would rather do anything other than call old women and try to sell us money from our own houses.”

“I really enjoy helping people—”

“Here’s the thing,” I say. “These are predatory loans, and you’re targeting…What did you call us? The most vulnerable members of our society? Maybe you don’t realize this, but what you’re doing is preying on old people.”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“I understand,” Jax finally says. “But if you old people would just die already and give up your houses, I wouldn’t have to work a second job to afford a place to live.”

Click.

Well. I bet Jax is not the first telemarketer who wished I was dead.

—

We are the hit of Thursday night bingo. Sheila with her kebabs on fancy sticks, Bonnie and two dozen of her caramel cupcakes, and me with my stuffed chicken roll. Most of our food disappears during the first break.

Even Pastor Doug has something to say, and he tries not to play favorites—especially when it comes to food. That can be a touchy topic at church, where people like Glenda take food too seriously.

Tonight he walks up to me with an empty plate in his hand. “Your chicken is amazing.”

“Thank you. I’m so happy you enjoyed it.”

“And these kebabs!”

“Sheila made those.”

“They’re fantastic.”

Glenda, who is wearing a new orange-and-green floral dress, sidles up to us and places her hand on Doug’s arm. I take note of that, though her clingy behavior isn’t new. Everyone knows about Glenda’s obsession with Pastor Doug.

He is never going to marry her. Everybody knows Doug is still in love with his late wife and he is not going to replace her with Glenda. Nevertheless, it gives me something to talk about when I return to my seat.

“She’s hanging all over our pastor again.”

“We should bet on how long it takes her to give up,” Bonnie says. “Like a sports pool.”

“I pick never,” Sheila says.

“The real bet is who will live longest,” I say. “Us or Glenda’s obsession.”

“I’d bet on us every time,” Sheila says.

“Really? You don’t think most people would rather we just die off and get out of the way?”

Sheila stares at me.

“Of course everybody wants us dead,” Bonnie says. “You know my kids do. They still think they’re getting an inheritance.”

We all laugh at that. None of us have much money. Our houses are mortgaged or, in my case, in need of serious work.

Sheila changes the subject and starts naming all the people who have complimented our food tonight. The list is long. Like I said, it’s the little things that can really make your day.

But I don’t feel as happy about it as I expected. The little thrill that comes with praise is barely a spark. Lots of people stop by the table to compliment the food, including Hector and his wife, but that spark doesn’t grow any bigger.

There’s only one thing giving me a little spark tonight:

Jax.

I’ve been thinking about him all day. The way he spoke, the horrible things he said. And I wonder if his calls are recorded.